


Impractical Parenting

by KittenKin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sherlock is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 12:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17828507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKin/pseuds/KittenKin
Summary: Started off with just this doodle and caption, and then spun off from there.John, a Working Class Man: A shirt that probably cost £300!Sherlock, an Infatuated Godfather: £1,125, actually.John, Losing his Blessed Mind: WHAT?!





	Impractical Parenting

At first skim, Sherlock was an absolute disaster at sane, sensible babycare. A natural disaster; effortless and guileless, but also fascinating in a chilling way. Everyone seemed to think so.

Donovan’s squawks were easily ignored; John respected her opinion on parenting even less than her taste in men. But Lestrade drew him aside with well-meaning concern, and Mrs. Hudson fluttered and tutted like an anxious parakeet let loose in their flat, and the British government sent nannies ‘round for surprise interviews with resumes that read more like c.v.’s.

John smiled and shrugged and waved them away.

“It’s fine.”

“He’s fine.”

“We’re fine.”

Even John hadn’t understood right away, of course. Perhaps it was that he’d had to harden himself to bits and pieces of cadavers lying about the flat in the olden days, but when dirty nappies had begun turning up - open wide, no less - on tables and countertops, John had chalked it up to Sherlock having deleted the sanitation chapter of “How Normal People Live”. And Sherlock depleting the refrigerator of all fresh foods and turning them into piles of mash indistinguishable one from the other had been dismissed as yet another mysterious experiment.

And then one day he’d chided Sherlock for forgetting to protect his expensive wardrobe from drool and spit-up when they had a whole pile of freshly laundered burp cloths to hand.

“My clothes are clean, I assure you,” Sherlock had said, as if John had been worried about Rosie nibbling on a dirty spot. He’d turned his back on John with haughty disdain, as superior as ever despite a slick-shiny patch of drool making his shirt cling damply to his shoulder blade.

And then John had finally seen. Sherlock was impractical and messy and an absolute natural at taking care of a baby. People only thought him a disaster because he didn’t have any pride of possession for actual possessions, and his behavior didn’t compute for them. But he had what counted.

He had all the instinct God had ever granted to a parent; protective and nurturing and absolutely obsessed with this little squirming life he’d suddenly discovered in his hands. He left nappies lying about so he could make notes about Rosie’s digestion the next time she fell asleep. He pureed fresh foods months ahead of when she’d be able to experiment with solids, because refining and testing and perfecting took time. And he couldn’t be bothered to waste a few seconds shaking out a burp cloth, because Sherlock had decided that giving Rosie every bit of soothing body heat and thudding heart possible was more important than spending less of Mycroft’s money on tailored shirts.

Sherlock was perfect with Rosie. John didn’t even try to compete. Instead he tried his best to love as fiercely and wholeheartedly as Sherlock was showing him was possible.


End file.
